Lucy’s mind was soon made up. Notwithstanding her father’s expostulations, she had determined to come after me and learn the truth for herself; and as he couldn’t come with her, to come alone. She hadn’t written, for fear of my telegraphing she was not to start. And here she was, to be told the truth, to be reassured, to be made happy once more; if possible, to take me home with her.
“Oh, it’s not true, Vincent, dearest!” she murmured. “It’s all a fable, isn’t it? You’re not even dreaming of doing anything so dangerous and foolish?”
Now, deep and true as is my affection for Lucy, I should have been quite unworthy of her if I had allowed myself to be turned from so deeply matured and worthy a purpose as ours merely by her tears.
The more I had seen of Monte Carlo, the more sincerely was I convinced of its worthlessness, and the dignity of a serious effort to put a stop to it. For it is simply, as I have written, a cocotte’s paradise and nothing more; and if, by any effort of mine, I could close it, I felt I should be rendering a service to humanity only second to Wilberforce and the Slave Trade. What a glorious moment if only I could live to see a large board stuck out of the Casino windows with À Vendre on it, to say nothing of the boards taken in from outside the London hospitals and the closed wards in working order again, full of sufferers!
So I calmed dear Lucy and told her how glad I was to see her; that above all things she must trust me and believe what I was doing and going to do was for the best and would turn out not unworthy of nor unserviceable to her in the long-run; more especially, if only it were, as we had every reason to believe it would be, successful.
After some further talk, she promised to say no more and to trust me entirely, both now and always, begging me only to assure her I was not angry, and that what she had done in coming was really for my benefit and welfare. I told her truly she had rendered me the greatest possible service, and that I loved her if possible more deeply for this new proof of her devotion than before. Then I telegraphed to her father of her safety, got her something to eat, and sent her off early to bed after her long journey (she had come second-class, poor child, and had stopped once at least at every station, and twice at some), and at nine o’clock we went down to the Condamine to go on board the Amaranth for our council of war.
On the way down I told Brentin the reason of Lucy’s sudden visit, and the new danger from Bailey Thompson, who by this time was clearly on his way after us, if indeed he hadn’t already arrived. At the same time, I candidly confessed to my indiscretion with Mrs. Wingham, and the letter I had seen her writing to her brother. We found no difficulty in agreeing we both had behaved like arrant fools, and might very fairly be pictured as standing on the romantic, but uncomfortable, edge of a precipice.
“But we must go on, sir,” said Brentin, with decision. “It will never do to back out now, after coming so far and spending so much money. We must never allow this shallow detective trash to frighten us; we must meet him in a friendly spirit, and find some means to dump him where he may be both remote and harmless. The Balearic Isles, for choice.”
“What about the band of brothers?” I asked. “How will they regard these fresh revelations?”
“That’s the difficulty,” replied Brentin, thoughtfully. “We must exercise care, sir, or they’ll be scattering off home like Virginia wheat-ears.”